“Ughwuah,” Gwil gagged.

He tried very hard not to vomit as he crawled up a river of mucous, filled with nose hair-reeds. It was horrible. Gwil wondered if going into the sheriff’s ear might have been less unpleasant.

Being so small and weak, this was the only way Gwil could deal critical damage. Once he came to something squishy, he’d beat the hell out of it. Hopefully it’d be Jackson’s brain.

Gwil dragged himself through thick, sticky phlegm and bristly nose hairs, fighting for every smidgen of progress. His arm had grown back up to the hand, but the fingers had yet to form.

Jackson’s nasal exhalations were like a disgusting sauna. Gwil had only been in the nose proper for about thirty seconds, but the grossness made it feel like years.

He was brimming with Nirva, an ocean in his veins. Prismatic essence poured from his body in proverbial bucketfuls. And he knew that he was healing faster than ever before. Even his tooth had grown back.

Gwil guessed that his Nirva had not diminished with his shrunken body, so he now possessed an abundance.

It didn’t seem like Jackson could sense his presence. Maybe what Gwil was doing was working—though he wasn’t doing anything anymore—or maybe the sheriff just thought he had to sneeze. This was a good hiding place. Who would ever think to look inside their own nose?

***

Cort was on his knees, staring up at Jackson. Ansoir and Leira lay beside him. Ansoir’s hand had been sliced off.

Razor-ropes formed a vest around Cort’s chest and lashed his arms to the ground. He couldn’t move a muscle.

Another rope snaked out of Jackson’s palm and coiled around Cort’s neck. He spat a mouthful of blood into the sheriff’s face as the rope tightened.

***

The dark, dank cavity was getting narrower. The top of Gwil’s head bumped against something softer than the nasal walls. And the surface contracted, flinched.

Jackson’s whole body spasmed. But Gwil was jammed up far enough—and it was sticky enough—that he wouldn’t fall out.

Gwil poked at the soft thing. It felt bouncy, kind of like a balloon. As he drew his fist back, he wondered what it was. A sinus or gland or something.

A rush of Nirva filled his fist to bursting.

Gwil punched the balloon, and it popped. Foul liquid sprayed his face. He spat and crawled into the rupture.

It was slippery in here, and stuffy with bulbous masses.

Gwil began punching and kicking at everything. He was being rocked around by whatever Jackson was doing outside, so he just thrashed mindlessly as he crashed against the soft cushions. I hope this is his brain.

Something dreadful happened.

“A-ah-ahhh-chooooo!”

Caught in a glob of bloody snot, Gwil shot out like a bullet. Wiping himself off, Gwil got up and found himself standing on Jackson’s chest. The man lay flat on his back, writhing and twitching, foaming at the mouth.

Gwil jumped up onto his chin to get a better look. The blood gushing from Jackson’s nose reached Gwil’s knees. More blood leaked from the sheriff’s eyes.

A choked wheeze blew Gwil off the chin back onto Jackson’s sternum.

It’s not enough. If the sheriff was still breathing, he could heal. Gwil had to get back inside and finish him.

“Gwil! Gwil, are you there?”

That was Leira, screaming.

“I’m here!” Gwil squeaked.

“Oh my- Where? Are you invisible? Why’s your voice like that? I thought you were dead!”

“Right here!” Gwil waved his arms over his head.

“Fucking hell! I see him! Argh!”

Gwil turned and saw Cort smash through three of Jackson’s men with one swing of his hammer—the rest of the officers ran for the door.

Cort’s prisoner’s jumpsuit and the skin underneath had been shredded. Half-a-dozen bloodied bodies lay at his feet.

“Ahh!” Leira yelped. “Me too!” She ran over.

“Wait, Leira! We gotta-” Gwil dodged away from her grabbing hand. At this even smaller size, she loomed large as a mountain.

“Why the hell are you so tiny?”

Gwil’s cheeks fluttered at the gale force wind of her voice. He had to cling to Jackson’s vest to keep from blowing away.

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“I dunno—but Cort! Smash his face, quick!” Gwil chirped.

“Yeah, my pleasure,” Cort said, grunting. He limped over, the head of his great hammer scraping against the stone floor.

The noise began in their bones, like ten thousand needles. Aches burrowed through Gwil’s joints. His limbs locked up.

The others fell to their knees. Ansoir clamped his hands over his ears. Stondemaier wailed. Jackson was gripped by a vicious seizure and Gwil was flung away.

The warbling shrillness crept into Gwil’s skull, and his vision went blurry. He covered his ears too. Everyone’s hair stood up on end, as if drawn by tremendous static. Ansoir’s afro had unfurled to a length of two meters.

The sound increased in frequency and grew more distorted. The voices in Gwil’s head screamed death in answer.

And then the sound stopped. Frigid gusts of powerful wind rushed around them. Radiant light filled the cavern. Looking up, Gwil thought the moon might be falling on top of them.

Debris swirled into the air. Gwil grabbed hold of a chunk of rock, and then the object skittered, and he was being lifted up.

Cort snatched Gwil out of the air and clutched his fist to his chest.

Gwil peeked through the creases of Cort’s fingers. He saw Ophelia with her arms wrapped around her huddled family, her stone body stalwart against the winds.

The top half of the manor had been obliterated. The rounded metal bottom of an enormous vessel loomed overhead. Its breadth could not be discerned, but it dwarfed this tower. Blinding white-blue Kaia light shone from circular vents along the base of the craft.

Frost crackled into being, coating everything around them.

“Run!” Leira said, getting to her feet, bracing herself against the gale. She tugged at Cort.

“But Leira,” Gwil said, popping his head out the top of Cort’s fist.

“No!” she shrieked. “Gwil, no. We need to leave now, or we will all die.” Mania gripped her face, but her voice was steady. She did not plead. She spoke with deliberate certainty.

Gwil nodded. “What are we waiting for? Run, Cort!”

The winds ebbed, allowing them to hear the rumbling hum of the vessel. Something else was happening, but Gwil couldn’t twist around to see because Cort had tightened his fist.

“Get up, get up!” Leira said. “Ophelia, can you carry them?”

Gwil watched the stone woman hoist her feeble husband onto her shoulder, and then her son.

“Wha!” Gwil squealed. “Ansoir!”

A bundle of cloth, shiny with blood, was wrapped around Ansoir’s wrist. Its shape revealed that there was no hand underneath.

Gwil wrestled himself out of Cort’s fist and jumped down to the ground. Diom lay there. Not moving. Covered in blood. Gwil’s fingernails stabbed into his palms.

***

Leira snatched Gwil off the ground as he tried to run toward Diom’s corpse. She had to press both her hands together to keep him trapped as he tried to fight his way free.

“He’s dead, Gwil. I tried,” she said as they ran toward the door. He slammed himself against the inside of her palms like a wasp trapped in a jar.

“No, he isn’t,” Gwil said, like a petulant child. “I promised Isca. Put me down! I’ll carry him.”

Into the tunnels. Leira ran alongside Ophelia. Cort was a few paces ahead.

“Let me go!” Gwil said. “I promised.”

“You made a promise to me, too,” Leira snapped. That shut him up, but she was on edge, so she went on. “He’s dead. You failed. Deal with it.”

“What if he comes back as a Hallow?”

“Gwil. No.”

She felt him fall against her palm, light as a feather.

Cort slowed down to hammer through a chunk of rock that blocked their path. The cave was collapsing.

“The sheriff is gonna heal,” Gwil said.

Leira laughed. “I expect he’s cursing you for not killing him right now.”

“That was the Leviathan?” Gwil asked.

“Yeah, and not standard military. Only Monarchs have that kind of ship.”

“I gotta go back for Diom, then. Leira, please.”

She clenched her teeth as they clambered over a pile of rubble.

“Yeah, good idea. Give your life for a fucking corpse. He is dead. I tried, Gwil, but it hit an artery or something.”

She brought her hands to her mouth. “It’s not your fault. He died hopeful. If we get away with everyone, then we made his dream come true.”

Gwil made a stunted, muffled sound. Then said, “We need to find the others.”

“No, they need to get out on their own. You promised.”

Leira felt a cool breeze. Fresh air. Up ahead—a hole in the wall that they could get out through.

Something about that sight crushed her resolve, washed away her adrenaline. Terror surged. Her heart pounded in her throat. They are here. The monsters are right behind me.

“Don’t let them take me!” she screamed.

“I won’t,” Gwil squeaked.

Cort had stopped at the opening and pushed Ophelia through. He wrapped an arm around Leira’s back and dragged her outside.

Don’t think. Don’t think.

Looking up, the sheer size of the Leviathan ship seemed to swallow everything. The upper sections of the canyon wall that enveloped the manor had vanished, sliced into nothingness, exposing the hollow to the sky.

The ship’s hull was a hypnotizing mechanical hellscape. Leira knew it had not flown here—it had appeared out of nowhere.

A Monarch. Here. It’s not her. It’s not her.

Leira gasped when they escaped from the warpship’s breadth. The sight of the blank night sky allowed her to breathe. Clouds obscured the stars.

They hobbled along, fast as they could. The ground crunched beneath their feet. Leira looked down. The gardens were blackened and burnt, smoldering.

It started raining. Pouring.

“Mmra!”

“Huh?” Leira opened her hand.

Gwil’s panting sounded like a whistle. “You were… squeezing me way too tight.” He lay in her palm with his hand over his chest. He rolled over like a little bug.

“C’mon,” Cort growled.

The rain sizzled and steamed as they ran through the scorched gardens. Leira loved heavy rain like this. It made you want to look up and reach for the sky.

“Ooh!” Gwil yelled in her ear. She hadn’t realized that he’d climbed up onto her shoulder.

She wiped her eye so she could see what he was shouting about. With the darkness and the rain and her tears, the visibility was piss-poor.

A horde of figures ahead. Soldiers, was her first thought. But no, they were running away. Dozens, maybe even a hundred! Could it really be all of them?

“They made it!” Gwil chirped.

Their comrades were a couple hundred paces ahead, nearly to the cliff’s edge and the wall.

“Thank fuck,” Cort said.

Running through the gardens might’ve been treacherous, with all the twisting roots and vines, but everything crumbled into ash beneath their feet.

Leira chanced a look over her shoulder. The ship hung above the ruined manor, motionless. The surrounding air was warped and shimmering. It looked as if the sky had been torn open to reveal an unimaginable horror.

Gwil’s voice called her back.

“Andor,” he was saying. “Hey, Andor.”

Ansoir was slumped over his mother’s shoulder, seemingly unconscious.

But he jerked to attention. “An-soir!” He sobbed. “It hurts. Everything hurts so much.”

“You’ll be okay,” Gwil said. “You’re tough.”

Ansoir made a weird noise and then his head lolled. “I’m… I think I’m glad I get to live,” he murmured.

“Don’t say that yet,” Cort said.

Leira nodded to herself at that. She wondered how much Cort knew about what had just arrived here.

Cort slowed down a step so that they ran parallel to each other. “Why the fuck are you still like that?” he yelled at Gwil. “Go back to normal.”

“Shut up!” Gwil said. “I’ve been trying.”